WCP 17

chapter 17

Time flows endlessly.

A week passes in the blink of an eye, bringing the finals of the Korea International Music Competition.

Professor Choi Narae, who had arrived at the concert hall two hours early for the judging, noticed a familiar face sitting in the empty audience seats and spoke, seemingly surprised.

“What are you doing here? Arriving this early.”

“Well, it’s the finals, so I didn’t want to be late.”

Jo Sungmin replied casually, as if there were no particular reason. Then he looked at Professor Choi and added:

“By the way, you’re not calling me ‘senior’ anymore? That’s harsh.”

“Oh, sorry. It’s just a habit.”

After holding a teaching position for a long time, it’s natural to drift away from using terms like “senior.”

Professor Choi Narae offered a small apology to Jo Sungmin, then sat beside him and quietly asked:

“So, who do you think will win today?”

“Hmm… if I go by probability, I’d say Kang Yun.”

“And why’s that?”

“Considering the assigned pieces this time, if they have to play only the works on the list, Kang Yun, who has a technical edge, will likely have an advantage over the other participants.”

“Even over Song Minwoo?”

“Yes. Honestly, that student’s skills haven’t been fully verified yet.”

That made sense.

While Song Minwoo’s performance in the preliminaries was undoubtedly impressive, this is a competition, not a recital. Accuracy is prioritized over musicality.

Moreover, Song Minwoo has no history of awards. Since no one has heard him perform outside the preliminaries, it’s difficult to judge. It’s common in competitions for someone to perform flawlessly once and then completely fail the next time.

“And you? Who do you think will win?”

“I’m similar to you. I also think Kang Yun will probably win.”

“Does that mean you think there’s still a chance for someone else?”

“Well, it’s a competition. No one can claim first place every time; there are always variables.”

No pianist can perform perfectly every time. Their playing can falter due to condition, or nervousness can lead to mistakes. Some just make fewer mistakes than others.

Professor Choi Narae knew from experience that there is no such thing as an unchanging first-place winner.

“If we assume variables, who might win?”

“Lee Ji-hye. She showed more growth than expected in the preliminaries.”

“Oh, the girl who played that [‘Sorrow’] piece. That was impressive. At her age, it’s rare to balance expression and technique, but she seemed to do both.”

Surprisingly, Jo Sungmin also had a positive impression of Lee Ji-hye.

“By the way, Jeong Da-yoon, right? She really is the perennial second place?”

“Yes. She got second place in almost every competition last year and this year. But why do you ask?”

“Well, thinking back, her preliminary performance was below expectations.”

“She did seem shaky. She looked very nervous.”

Her performance felt as if she were being chased or had lost her way. She made no mistakes, thankfully; even a single error would have allowed another student to advance.

“Nervousness… what a shame. I had some expectations since she was second place.”

“Indeed. When she plays well, she’s a student full of character.”

Professor Choi Narae recalled Jeong Da-yoon’s performance from last year.

“If you rate her that highly, she must have been really good.”

“Not just good. Her accuracy lagged slightly, but her emotional expression was nearly on par with Kang Yun.”

“Really that much?”

Jo Sungmin seemed quite surprised. That meant Jeong Da-yoon wasn’t in good condition currently.

“Looks like I’m left out. Were you two talking about something interesting without me?”

“Oh, Professor Lee is here?”

How long had he been listening? Professor Choi looked a bit embarrassed at Professor Lee Jeonghoon suddenly joining the conversation.

Unlike her, Jo Sungmin seemed pleased, asking Professor Lee a question and shifting the topic.

“Good timing, Professor. Who do you think will win?”

“Well, I’m not good at predicting such things. The one who wins will win.”

Professor Lee dodged the question with a playful attitude. Seeing Jo Sungmin and Professor Choi disappointed, he added with a meaningful smile:

“If I had to say, it would be Song Minwoo.”

Professor Lee had only heard Song Minwoo perform three times:

• Chopin Etude

• Chopin Nocturne

• Beethoven Moonlight Sonata

Although none of these pieces are technically the most difficult, Professor Lee instinctively knew that such performances could only be delivered by a polished pianist.

“Well, saying this probably doesn’t mean much.”

As a judge, predicting who would win was meaningless. Their role was simply to evaluate the performances objectively, free of personal bias.

The three judges watched the prepared stage. Soon, the finals would begin.

All the effort of the participants would soon bear fruit. Some would cry; others would smile. The judges could only hope the results were satisfactory for the participants.

Korea University Comprehensive Cultural Center

The same venue as the preliminaries, but a different atmosphere. People murmured softly in the background.

“This is unprecedented.”

“No professor, no award experience, yet he made it to the finals.”

The cause of the murmurs was none other than Song Minwoo, the protagonist of this year’s Korea International Competition.

‘Ugh, Song Minwoo here, Song Minwoo there. So noisy.’

Kang Yun entered the grand, solemn lobby filled with reporters and famous pianists and muttered, annoyed.

“How did so many people gather?”

“It’s the finals of the largest competition in the country. This is expected.”

Kang Yun’s grandfather, Kang Seojun, quietly answered. Unlike the preliminaries, the finals were attended by professors from well-known universities.

‘They must have come to discover talents who will elevate the domestic classical scene.’

Kang Yun realized this even with a cursory glance.

Kang Seojun scanned the gathered reporters and classical music personnel with a wrinkled face, then asked Kang Yun with a slightly concerned tone:

“You’re not nervous, huh?”

“What’s there to be nervous about? It’s just a domestic competition.”

Compared to the international stage he would eventually face, this was a local music contest.

“Just, huh. Compared to a world-class competition, it’s a modest stage.”

Kang Seojun nodded, seemingly agreeing, but his next words disagreed:

“Remember, no matter how modest the stage, never underestimate it.”

“Yeah~”

It’s not about underestimating; it’s just being realistic.

“I’ll go to the waiting room then.”

“Good. Remember what I said.”

Ignoring his grandfather’s advice, Kang Yun made a brief greeting and headed to the waiting room. Unlike the busy lobby, the hallway to the waiting room was quiet, with only staff and participants preparing for their performances.

Kang Yun noticed a familiar girl in the hallway. A timid-looking girl with short hair—Jeong Da-yoon, the perennial second-place finisher he had seen in every competition last year.

Kang Yun passed her silently, noticing her trembling hands.

‘Why are her hands shaking like that?’

Having absolute confidence in his skills, Kang Yun couldn’t understand it. To him, stage nerves were just excuses from those who hadn’t practiced enough.

He muttered quietly:

“Ridiculous. If you’re not confident, don’t even come on stage.”

Although Jeong Da-yoon clearly heard him, she didn’t respond, lowering her head. Finding her unworthy of attention, Kang Yun entered the waiting room.

‘Jeong Da-yoon can be ignored. If I need to focus on someone, it’s that kid.’

The newcomer who had unsettled the judges before, mentioned endlessly by reporters and classical music figures—Song Minwoo. Kang Yun immediately sought him out upon entering the waiting room.

“There he is, that annoying kid.”

Apparently embarrassed by his previous stage outfit, Song Minwoo now wore a proper suit. Kang Yun watched him tapping the table as if it were a piano and silently vowed to crush him on this stage.

Only 15 minutes remained until the finals.

Standing in the middle of the waiting room, Song Minwoo adjusted his tie, slightly awkward. Borrowed from Lee Ji-hye’s father, it spared him from wearing his school uniform for the finals.

He quietly spoke to himself:

“By the way, where’s the last one?”

He noticed one participant missing. Four finalists in total: Lee Ji-hye, Kang Yun, Song Minwoo himself, and Jeong Da-yoon.

Lee Ji-hye was right in front of him, Kang Yun was lounging on the table playing with his phone. So where was Jeong Da-yoon?

‘Ah, Jeong Da-yoon… I haven’t met her yet.’

Song Minwoo, wanting to at least introduce himself, started searching the waiting room.

Lee Ji-hye looked at him, calm:

“Maybe she went to the restroom? She seemed really nervous before performing last time.”

“Still, the finals start in 15 minutes. She should be back by now.”

According to the order, Lee Ji-hye goes first, Jeong Da-yoon second, Song Minwoo third, and Kang Yun last. Jeong Da-yoon should’ve been in the waiting room by now, but she was nowhere to be seen.

A staff member’s voice from the hallway broke the tense atmosphere:

“Lee Ji-hye, the stage is almost ready. Please prepare.”

“Ah, yes! Coming right away!”

Time was up.

“I’m going! I’ll show a performance on a completely different level from before. Be ready!”

Despite her confident words, her shoulders trembled slightly. Observing her nervousness hidden under composure, Song Minwoo whispered:

“Alright. This time, don’t stumble on stage.”

“Hey!”

Lee Ji-hye shouted, reacting to his not-so-supportive encouragement. Song Minwoo had quietly begun to enjoy teasing her.